


Pictures of You

by shutterbug_12 (shutterbug)



Category: The West Wing
Genre: Canon Het Relationship, Canon Related, Canon Relationship, F/M, Political Campaigns, Season/Series 06
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-25
Updated: 2013-03-25
Packaged: 2017-12-06 12:59:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/735988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shutterbug/pseuds/shutterbug_12
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Josh was never one for photographs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pictures of You

More than once, Josh caught members of the campaign staff fumbling to minimize photos on their laptops.  

Sooner or later, they would confess, “I just miss my sister.”  Or parents.  Or best friend.  Or _turtle_ , of all things.  

The last photo _he_ ’d seen showed the Congressman waving to a crowd in Eugene. But Josh was never one for photographs.  If he wanted to, he could spread photos all over his desk, his mantel. He had enough. 

When he’d turned forty, his mother had sent him a gift, along with a box full of photos. Flimsy three-by-fives.  Joanie, nose to nose with her short-lived calico.  Preschool graduation.  Josh himself with a tuft of cotton-ball hair blown back by the wind, racing to the mailbox on his first bike. Hundreds more, piled high in stacks. 

His father’s portrait traveled with him, took up residence on his desk, in his carry-on, but it was the only one.  

Donna had taken notice of it once, a few months into the first term. 

_“Who’s that? Your grandfather?”_

  _Josh looked away from the television, peering first at Donna, then at the framed photo on his desk.  “My father.”_

_“Oh.”  Donna sobered, calculating time in her head.  “I--I didn’t know what he looked like.”  She tilted her head at the photo.  “You--not that this means anything--but you don’t really look like him.”_

_“Yeah,” he replied, shifting in his seat.  He fell quiet, not knowing what to say, and turned back toward the TV._

_Donna shuffled toward the door.  Her footsteps paused before her voice reached his ears, soft, meant to comfort.  “It’s nice that you remember him like that.”_

_When he didn’t respond, she took her cue, pulling the door closed behind her as she left._

Donna had never mentioned the photo again, but had slipped photographs into his backpack over the course of years.  The senior staff during the re-election campaign.  Inaugural balls.  Candids from her own collection.  Even a photo of herself.  

He’d stashed all of them away--stuffed in his closet, buried in desk drawers, lost among credit card statements and tax records.  

Sometimes over breakfast, mouth on a bagel and eyes on the newspaper, a photo would remind him of why he’d banished most of his own collection.  When Russell managed to weasel his way into print, Josh looked for Donna, a grayscale beacon two shades lighter than the rest of the throng.  He spotted her twice in two months, half-hidden behind Russell’s shoulders.  Each time, her image seemed to dive down his throat and choke him.  His chest tightened around a thorny knot of loss, even after he flipped the newspaper, slapping the image face down on the table.  

When he caught a third glimpse of her a few weeks later, hovering behind Will somewhere in Texas, Josh forced down the rest of his coffee.  He hunched over the paper, silent for a minute, maybe two, before he spoke.  “I just miss you,” he said, touching the pad of his fingers to the page.  “Miss you like hell.”  

Bitterness lingered on his tongue, and he blamed it on his coffee as he tossed the paper in the trash. 

 

 

 

 


End file.
